


The Story of Tomorrow

by AbsolXGuardian



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Gen, Guilt, but it's the same concept, canon character death, i mean they're all dead, survivor's guilt, time snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 21:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10625706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsolXGuardian/pseuds/AbsolXGuardian
Summary: Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens expected to go to heaven when they died. They would be reunited with their loved ones who had already passed. It would be perfect. They would live out eternity content. They couldn't have been more wrong.Note: You don't need to have read Magnus Chase or Percy Jackson. I'm simply using their rules about the afterlife to provide the backbone of the story. I try to explain everything the best I can to the characters. You will miss a few easter eggs, but you should be able to follow anything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the longest single thing I’ve written. It’s not that well researched, but I did weave in some historical facts that I already knew (like Hamilton’s last words). Also, I am using the musical’s canon for Laurens not being in Yorktown.

“STAY TOGETHER MEN!” John Laurens screamed. His soldiers had been celebrating the news they just received from Alexander. The war was over. The redcoats had surrendered at Yorktown. However, the camp had been attacked by a band of redcoats while they were waiting for the word to come home.

 

His troop’s had been unprepared. They’d finally let their guard down after so many years. As soon as the first shot was fired, they’d scrambled to grab their guns and stay in formation, but they were losing from the start. “REGROUP IN THE-” Laurens started to yell, but was soon cut off. The air escaped from his lungs as he collapsed backwards, the worst pain he’d ever felt burning in his abdomen.

 

He fell to the grass, the blood soaking his uniform. Red started to fill Lauren’s vision. _“No! I have to get up!”_ He screamed in his head. _“I have to lead my men. I have to help them get free. The war is over. I have to see our glory. I need to see Alexander...”_ He struggled to force energy into his limbs. Push himself up. The sounds of battle, the popping of muskets and the screams of terror and battle cries became softer. His lungs tried to breathe, keep him alive. Pain burned through every inch of him, but it was muted as if it was a world away. As Laurens became lightheaded from blood loss, a strange sense of enjoyment washed over him. His mind was too foggy to acknowledge it, but he began producing some cruel breathless imitation of laughter.

 

  But soon the blood loss was too much. His body gave way and his heart stopped beating. He became another soldier's death. Another example of why rapid communication was needed. A young man with ambitions and dreams who could have made the world a better place, but never had the chance.

 

* * *

 

Laurens was finally able to pick himself off the ground. The battlefield had grown quiet and stars were now in the sky. The battle must have ended while he was unconscious, the enemy assuming he was dead while what was left of his troops had fled for their lives, or all been butchered.

 

Once he was on his knees, his hand went to his stomach, Laurens’ vague knowledge of battlefield medicine racing to the front of his mind. But something was off. There was no wound. In fact, he felt better than he had in months, well rested and fed. Even his soldier's uniform was cleaner than it had ever been.

 

He looked around warily, realizing that he wasn’t still on the battlefield. In front of him was a fancy townhouse, larger than any John had ever seen before. Behind him was a wall much too tall to scale and what looked to be the city line of...Boston? That didn’t make any sense. He had been all the way down in South Carolina.

 

Other than the mansion, there was also a tree with golden leaves. Not turning-yellow-in-the-fall leaves. Real golden leaves. The wound he’d suffered could have easily been fatal. So this was heaven? Really thinking about it, it was pretty underwhelming. Laurens was honestly expecting more clouds and something a bit grander. He did have still have his gun on him, which didn’t make much sense.

 

As Laurens was standing around, trying to figure out what to do, and a burly raggedy man, but still wearing formal clothing, appeared in the large doorway that had just swung open. To add to the absurdness of his appearance, a large double bladed ax hung from the man’s belt.

 

"Do you know what this place is?” Laurens asked tentatively, fearing the answer he’d started to suspect.

 

“Welcome to Hotel Valhalla,” he said, looking Laurens over. “Name’s Hunding. And you look to be another one of those rebel soldiers. We’ve been getting a lot of you lately.”

 

“John Laurens, sir,” Laurens said, reaching his hand out for a handshake that wasn’t returned before he awkwardly put his hand down. “What do you mean you’ve been getting a lot of rebel soldiers lately?”

 

“Well, war’s a deadly business. And since you don’t have a draft or anything, most of you met the bravery requirement. Odin’s actually told the Valkyries to focus on getting the braver ones each battle rather than overexerting themselves,” Hunding said as if he was talking about the weather.

 

None of that made any sense to Laurens, but he was able to put together one conclusion, and it scared him out of his wits. “Wait, so that means I’m dead.”

 

“Yes...well sort of,” Hunding said, like it wasn’t grave news, “You’re an einherjar now.” When he saw Laurens confused face, he just sighed. “Look, it isn’t my job to explain everything- that’s your Valkyrie's duty. But kudos to you for figuring it out pretty quickly.”

 

Hunding led Laurens into an extremely large open entry room, filled with a bunch of people, most of whom we roughhousing, but a few were just relaxing. All of them were adults, he didn’t see anyone younger than 20 anywhere. Laurens was also pleasantly surprised at the diversity. Although the inhabitants of this “Hotel Valhalla” seemed to be mostly male, there was a fair amount of women scattered about, none of whom were wearing large impractical dresses, which was a bit odd. There was also a good mix of different ethnicities, none of whom seemed to be partially hostile with each other. Most people seemed to be wearing some variation of a soldier's uniform. When Laurens saw two redcoats casually relaxing on a couch and talking, he couldn’t stop himself from stiffening and keeping an eye on them.

 

As Laurens was taking in the all the bewildering sights, he was also following Hunding up to an overturned boat that was being used as a desk. The manager who introduced himself as Helgi handed him a key and led him up to his room. Well, he called it a key. In reality, it was smooth stone, about the size of a domino with a strange symbol carved into it.

 

Hunding led Laurens through countless hallways and rooms filled with people relaxing or playing games. Some were reading. Female servers wearing green shirts and with some type of weapon on them walked around giving out snacks and such. They also passed a few alcoves that were serving as libraries. Laurens had a lot of questions, but because of Hunding’s dismissal, he’d decided to save them for whomever this “Valkyrie” person was. Instead, he observed his surroundings for possible threats.

 

As much as Laurens tried to pay attention to their route, by the time Hunding reached a staircase, he was completely lost. Right at the staircase, Hunding stopped until Laurens was standing beside him.

 

“Before you head up, make sure the stairs are on the right setting,” Hunding said, pointing to one of the knobs at the end of the railing. “There are 540 different floors. You’re in the second block, so you definitely don’t want to walk up there on your own.”

 

“D-did you say 540?” Laurens asked, his mouth agape, “H-how is that even possible?” From the outside, the building looked to be only about four stories, maybe five.

 

“Valhalla doesn’t have to follow normal physics, kid. It exists in all nine worlds, not just Midgard. It’s very confusing. Only Odin really understands it. Just remember to always have the number on the knob display the floor you want to go to. Move your finger on the knob down for a higher number and up for a lower one. You’re on floor 190.” Hunding looked at the knob and then moved a finger down it until it satisfied him.

 

As Laurens continued to follow Hunding up the stairs, filling the ‘nine worlds’ comment away for later, he saw that the knob did have the number ‘190’ carved into it. Once they walked up the equivalent of a single flight of stairs, they were in a hallway with high vaulted ceilings.

 

    Hunding let him past two other doors with names on them, until they stopped in front of a door that oddly enough already had a plague with Laurens name on it. “Here’s your room,” Hunding said, “Just hold the key to the door knob and it’ll unlock. Look- I know everything’s really confusing, but your Valkyrie will be around soon to explain everything.”

 

John gave a nervous nod as Hunding left the way he came. Once Hunding reached the stairs Laurens unclenched his hand holding the stone and touched it to the doorknob. As soon as they made contact, the lock clicked open and Laurens' heart gave a little lurch, as he didn’t expect it to actually work.

 

Slipping the stone into his pocket, Laurens opened the door into a large cabin style room. Two couches were set up around a roaring fire. Other than a closet for him to store his rifle and bayonet (which he did) and a few other weapons, the first room was empty, save for three doors.

 

The first door lead to a large dressing room, but it lacked any extra clothes. The middle door led to a bedroom with another fireplace. It had a large double bed, piled with soft blankets and pillows. Honestly, the entire place reminded Laurens of his family’s home in South Carolina, just a lot more welcoming.

 

Laurens verbally gasped when he saw what was inside the third room. Other than a small break for a writing desk, the entire room was lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves. A quick look at the books revealed many were books he enjoyed reading or on topics that interested him.

 

John walked over to the writing desk. There was a quill in an inkwell and a neat stack of parchment set out on the desk. However, there were several stacks of letters piled onto the desk. When John unfolded one and began to read it, his heart felt like it dropped down to his feet.

 

It was one of the letters Alexander had sent him. After scanning the letter, he put it down and checked some of the other letters. They were all from Alex too. Laurens even found letters that he’d thought had been destroyed when they’d had to evacuate a camp.

 

Laurens put down the letter he’d been reading. It stood to reason that every single letter in the piles were letters from Alex, saved somehow by the same magic that let the building be 540 floors tall, let him walk up one flight of stairs and be on the 190th floor, and brought him back to life.

 

That’s right. He was dead. And this “Hotel Valhalla” was some type of heaven for what he assumed were brave soldiers who died in battle.

 

Laurens sat down on the rug, finally comprehending the gravity of it. As he tried to recall his last memories, his hand went to his stomach as he remembered the wound. He gripped his untorn shirt to steady himself as he recalled the pain of his lungs sputtering.

 

“It’s….it’s okay,” He told himself, “You’re still kinda alive….well you’re dead, but like your soul or something still exists.” Sitting there, Laurens didn’t feel dead. In fact, he felt healthier and stronger than he ever did. No more battle fatigue, no more hunger.

 

But he was dead. That meant he was trapped here. People would find his body. He’d be buried. And Alex….oh Alex. He’d be crushed. They’d just won the war, and then he’d be killed. And if this place was truly for those who fell in battle, they wouldn’t be reunited after Alexander’s (hopefully) long life.

 

Laurens sat on the rug in shock, not really moving, as he tried to really comprehend the fact that he was dead. That it would be decades until he saw Alex again if he even got the chance.

 

As he sat there, Laurens was vaguely aware of someone else entering the room. “Ah, this again,” he heard someone sigh. He looked up to see a stern woman with brown hair in a bun and a sword by her side.

 

“Here, let me help you up,” she said as she held out her hand. “It won’t get easier, but you just have to deal with it.”

 

Laurens accepted and she pulled him up. “Sorry about that,” he said.

 

“It’s fine,” the woman said, “Name’s Porpentine- yeah I know that sounds funny to you.”

 

John quickly stifled down his laugh and shook her hand. “John Laurens. And I assume you’re my Valkyrie.”

 

“Yes. Let’s go sit down somewhere and I’ll explain everything to you.”

 

 

* * *

 

And so they did. Apparently, the Norse gods were real and controlled the natural forces of not only this world but eight others. Valhalla was located in Asgard, the home of the Aesir tribe of gods, however, it existed in the other words a bit, hence why it could be so massive. The souls who were chosen for Valhalla had all fallen in battle with a weapon in their hand. Although they didn’t have to die in a traditional battle, it had to be protecting others. They also needed a sense of honor and for the sacrifice to be mostly unplanned.

 

It didn’t matter if all those qualifications were met if a Valkyrie didn’t choose your soul. Valkyrie (who were living or should have died of disease or old age after becoming one) couldn’t save anyone, and many times a soul had already passed to somewhere else. If a Valkyrie was successfully able to bring a soul to Valhalla they became an Einherjar or one of Odin’s

 

When Laurens asked what happened to souls who didn’t become Einherjar, Porpentine explained that most souls went to Ginnungagap, a massive void, where they dissolved. Those with a particular connection to the Norse gods (such as being a child of one of them) or strangely enough, not being from Midgard (an elf or dwarf) would usually end up in Hel’s court (Porpentine sternly told him that it was spelled with only one ‘L’ and wasn’t particularly a punishment unless you deserved it). Those who died at sea would have their souls claimed by Ran. There was also a second afterlife for warriors, Folkvangr, ruled over by Freya, one of the Vanir.

 

With Laurens mind still reeling from the first explanation and learning that everything he’d been taught about death was false, Porpentine jumped right into an explanation of an Einherjar’s duties and powers. Lauren’s new body was stronger and more durable, but he still needed to eat. He wouldn’t age and was protected from most diseases. As long as he remained in Valhalla he could even be killed and regenerate. In fact, he was expected to fight in different challenges to the “death” everyday in Valhalla to be ready for Ragnarok.

 

Yeah, Ragnarok. Big prophesied apocalypse. The gods fought against the giants, and when it eventually came the forces of Valhalla and Folkvangr would fight for the gods. When Laurens pressed Porpentine for more details, she brushed him off, saying that he could find translations of the Eddas in one of the libraries.

 

“Speaking of libraries,” Lauren asked as they sat on the couch in front of the fire, “there’s some letters that were really important to me in my library, even some I thought were destroyed. How does that work?”

 

“Oh, it’s like your new body. They were reconstructed. Valhalla recreates mementos from your past life. They still exist in Midgard, but you have your own copies,” Porpentine paused, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’ve walked in a too many Einherjar collapsed like that. I-I saw how many letters there were. You must have been very close.”

 

Laurens smiled for the first time in a while, thinking of Alexander. “Yeah, we were.”

 

As Laurens and Porpentine sat there, uncertain how to continue, a wailing scream cut through the air. John jumped up from the couch, his muscles tense, unsure what the alarm meant.

 

His Valkyrie calmly got up. “Relax, It’s just the dinner bell.” Laurens calmed down and the two of them headed out to the hallway. Laurens two other hallmates, a man and a woman, who seemed to be a fair bit older than him had also exited their rooms.

 

“Hey, Porpy,” the woman asked, her Scottish accent thick. “Looks like you pulled in someone else.”

 

“Yes, Marina,” Porpentine said, sounding exasperated.

 

“John Laurens,” Laurens said, shaking her hand. The man’s name was Jacques. They’d been dead for so long that last names were just a collection of titles, so they choose not to use them. Same with Porpentine.

 

* * *

 

The four of them headed down the stairs, and instead of ending up in the same area that John found with he came in, they entered the largest circular arena Laurens had ever seen. Tables filled with chatting Einherjar, filling the air with a cacophony of voices, sloped down towards the lowest point where a massive tree grew out of the center, creating a canopy over the dining area where John could see some stars peeking through. Valkyrie flew above the Einherjar’s heads, refilling plates and goblets.

 

“That’s the Tree of Laeradr,” Marina said, “A ton of immortal animals live up there. Provide us with food that can taste like anything you want. Then they regenerate. Who says being dead doesn’t have its perks.”

 

“Argh, late again,” Porpentine sighed, “You two go on ahead. I’ll take Laurens to the introduction table.” Jaques and Marina nodded and went to go find a table. While Laurens watched them go, he was suddenly lifted into the air by his wrist.

 

Porpentine flew them to one of the few mostly empty tables. Once Laurens took a seat and recovered from the shock of suddenly being pulled through the air, he was finally able to take stock of his new surroundings.

 

To their left was what looked to be the head table, decorated with a golden tablecloth. Laurens recognized the manager Helgi, but he didn’t recognize anyone else. A large one-eyed man sat on a throne, with two ravens by his side.

 

“Those are the thanes,” Porpentine whispered, “Odin’s the one sitting on the throne.”

 

Laurens nodded. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask something. Everyone I see looks to be an adult. Like I know bad stuff happens sometimes, but does Valhalla not accept people underage?”

 

“Oh, people are divided into blocks based on their age. They are mostly kept apart. You’re in the middle block, for adults. It’s the largest.”

 

Before Laurens could respond, he was cut off by the ringing of the bell a second time. Suddenly, the entire hall grew silent as Odin stood.

 

“Warriors!” Odin announced, “Three new fallen have joined us. May we be blessed to hear of their great deeds. Let the presentation of the dead commence!”

 

First Odin called the names of the other two Einherjar. After each warrior finished recounting their story, an impossibly elderly woman known as a vala performed a ritual with the same type of stones Laurens was given as a key. She would proclaim their parentage and give a small prediction. One of the new arrivals was revealed to be a child of Tyr, while the other one was fully mortal.

 

When it was Laurens turn, he began to tell his story. When he got to the part where he told of the success of the revolution, the rebel soldiers scattered throughout the dining area began to cheer and had to be silenced with a shout from Odin. The vala confirmed that Laurens was fully mortal. The first part of her prediction was the usual one about fighting well at Ragnarok, however, the second part intrigued John greatly. _“The effects of your death will send ripples you could never anticipate.”_ This caused the thanes to mumble amongst themselves until Odin silenced them with a call for celebration.

 

Porpentine (who Laurens learned was also Marina’s Valkyrie) and John headed off to sit with his hallmates when the conversation returned to full swing. The four of them talked more about the specifics of different parts of Valhalla and started on a battle plan for tomorrow's fight to the “death”. With how easily he hit off with his hallmates, Laurens could tell however long he had to wait for Ragnarok wouldn’t be torturous. And in all the revelry, the vala’s prediction and worries about Alexander were far from his mind.

 

* * *

 

Pain wracked Alexander’s body. He was only vaguely aware what had happened after the duel. Burr had shot him. That much was certain. His second had brought him back to the doctor’s, where he hung between life and death for hours. He’d heard Eliza come in. She spoke with the doctor in hushed tones. All he could catch was “...I don’t think he will make it.” in the doctor's solemn voice.

 

Now she was hugging him. He almost laughed at the irony, but couldn’t find the strength. Another Hamilton struck down in a duel. “E-eliza,” He managed to choke out.

 

“Sh, sh,” Eliza whispered, “Save your strength. Stay alive.”

 

“Eliza, I’m not going to make it,” Alexander said, putting all his strength into poetic words. “But do not fret, for I will see you in Heaven. I have a tender reliance on the mercy of the almighty, through the merits of the Lord Jesus Christ. I am a sinner. I look to him for mercy; pray for me.”

 

“No, no, you damn fool!” Eliza screeched, “Don’t say that! Do not waste your energy on a fancy speech!”

 

But it was too late. Alexander had already stopped breathing. Angelica put a hand on her sobbing sister’s shoulder. At this moment, there was no world beyond the stuffy hospital. No political quagmire to navigate. No Aaron Burr cursing himself and the name of a goddess. No centuries-long legacy past this. Just Eliza’s piercing cry of raw grief as she clutched her dead husband’s body.     

 

* * *

 

Hamilton couldn’t feel this body. But there was no pain. There wasn’t anything more than a black void. But soon he could make out a woman wearing a continental soldier's uniform. Her hair sat on her head in a neat bun. Instead of a rifle, she had a shimmering spear strapped to her back. But the most striking part were her stormy gray eyes. Although Alexander had no body, he felt as if she were analyzing him, like many intelligent politicians did when he was still gaining power, deciding if he would make a good ally. From the way she held herself, she radiated sly intelligence.

 

She smiled. “You did good, my son.” No, this woman wasn’t Alex’s mother. Although his mother had died at a young age, he would never forget her face. This wasn’t her. “A master of both the pen and the sword, just as my children should be. If only your life wasn’t cut so short, you could have avenged me.”

 

Alexander tried to speak, but he had no mouth to open.

 

The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a small silver coin. “Show this to Charon. Although you were supposed to receive this in life and strike the final blow against those who defiled me, it should be more than enough to pay for your passage and a speedy trial.”

 

* * *

 

The vision of the woman faded away. Now he stood in a ticket processing room. Instead of the bustle of people buying tickets, most sat on chairs listlessly. In fact, some were so faded Alexander could see past them. Wait, that didn’t make sense. No. He had died. Taking a closer look at the passengers waiting, many of them seemed to be ghosts.

 

Hamilton looked down. He was still solid and his body felt real. No bullet had punctured his ribs. He turned. There was only one ticket seller, wearing a black suit, matching the black mourning clothes he’d donned his Phillip’s death.

 

 _Phillip_. If he had died, then his was purgatory. But he was no saint. He would have to wait to be reunited with his son.

 

Alexander remembered what the woman had said. She mentioned paying for passage. Alex reached into his pockets, put he only found a single coin. Pulling it out, he revealed the same silver coin the woman had shown him.

 

He walked over to the ticket seller, feeling as nervous as when he’d purchased his passage to New York all those years ago.

 

The seller accepted his payment with a smile and led him to a small barge. “Come aboard, child of Athena,” he said. As soon as the ticket seller, Charon pushed the boat away from the shore and into the river, the illusion fell.

 

Charon was a skeleton in a dark hooded robe. The river they sailed on was filled with all collections of human possessions. Then it clicked. Athena was a greek goddess of wisdom. Charon was the boatman who sailed souls across the River Styx into the after. Those myths he read, mere stories to further his education, they were real. That was the only explanation.

 

Charon lead him to a pavilion where three judges debated his fate. They wore robes and golden masks. They asked him no questions, simply pulled facts, and feelings from his mind. They brought up everything good he did, but also all his sins. When Alexander tried to speak, defend himself in this court of death, he was silenced.

 

After much deliberation, the judges finally reached their verdict. “Alexander Hamilton, your soul will be able to spend eternity in Elysium. Be proud, for you are a hero.”

 

Pride blossomed in Hamilton’s chest as he was lead by animated skeletons based a dark field to a walled city, where he could see mansions in many different styles of architecture and hear the sound of laughter. Soon he would be reunited with the good people he had known. As he approached the gates, they swung open. His escorts froze. Smiling, Alexander entered Elysium’s cobbled streets. And when the gates slammed shut behind him, Alexander didn’t consider the fact he was being trapped inside. Besides, this was a paradise. As his loved ones joined him in death, there would be no reason to leave.   

 

* * *

 

Hamilton walked down the cobbled entry street of Elysium. It looked like a normal wealthy neighborhood if it wasn’t for the fact mansions of many different eras and styles coexisted side by side. As soon as the gates closed behind Alexander, the entire underworld faded away. Instead of a massive gloomy cavern, with its roof to far up to see, Elysium was impossibly filled with sunlight.

 

Hamilton walked through the streets. No one was outside of their mansions, but he could see moving figures through many of the windows. As he walked, he tried to think. But his mind was muddled. Each train of thought was covered in fog and impossible to pick out and be give the required attention. Even when Alex was at his busiest, he could always focus on one thing, at least for a little bit. Now everything was muddled.

 

He walked like he did after Philip died. For once he felt content to think of nothing. This sensation had faded when he started exchanging a flurry of angry letters with Burr and took up his legal practice again. But it was still there. Now it had returned in full force. The one part of his brain that was still sharp offered that he may be mourning his own death, but whether this was a valid suggestion or just a joke eluded him.

 

Hamilton stopped. He was standing on the steps of a mansion in the style of a southern plantation house. He didn’t really know why he was here. Things were a blur. But now that he was standing on the steps of the house, things were clearer now. He felt as if he had been lead here.

 

Alexander knocked on the door. Even if the person who answered the door was a stranger, they could still give him some form of directions and guidance.   

 

However, the person who opened the door wasn’t a stranger. In fact, it was someone who Hamilton knew very well.

 

“H-Hamilton, what are you doing here?” George Washington stammered out.

 

“Um, I died,” Hamilton said, his old smart-aleck self returning in the presence of his old commander.

 

Washington gave Alexander his usual “ _God, you have to be kidding me_ ” look, but let Hamilton inside.

 

As they sat at the table, Alexander explained what had happened since Washington died. The general remained silent but looked very tired when hearing about Alexander’s newest shenanigans.

 

“And well, that how I died,” Alexander stated plainly, feeling a bit removed from the entire situation.

 

“Ah, I see.” Alex couldn’t tell if Washington was disappointed, proud, or just done with dealing with him

 

Hamilton let the uncomfortable silence settled, before picking up the question he’d been wondering. “Washington, sir, have you seen Phillip?”

 

Washington did answer right away. He wouldn’t even meet Alexander’s eyes.

 

“Sir,” Hamilton anxiously asked, “Where’s my son?”

 

The general still wouldn’t look up Hamilton, but he began to speak, in the same tone he used when he announced that a soldier had died of his infected wounds.  “Alexander, I know you may have forgotten this, but there are more than two Greek afterlives. There’s Elysium, for the heroes. Those who made a long-term good in the world. There are the Fields of Punishment, for those who intentionally caused long term damage. And there’s also Asphodel. The black field you passed when you came in, that’s where most people go. There isn’t really anything there. People lose themselves, become mindless shades.”

 

Alexander shot up from his seat. “NO! NO! Phillip can’t be there! He was a good person!” Anger filled his body. He had to use all his willpower to force back tears.

 

“Alexander, calm down,” Washington said sternly, “Going to Asphodel doesn’t mean they aren’t a good person. The judges put more stock in actions over beliefs. That’s just the way the underworld works. It can be unfair. That’s just how it is.”

 

Tears wracked Hamilton’s body. He couldn’t hold them back now. “H-how can you be so calm?”

 

“Things are unfair in the afterlife. Many times, the people you love didn’t do enough,” Washington stated plainly.

 

Alexander didn’t have to ask. He already knew his mother, his true mother, not the woman who spoke to him as he died, his wonderful, kind mother would have been condemned to Asphodel. But there was one more person. “What about Laurens?”

 

“He isn’t here either. There are some other war heroes, but Laurens, I assumed didn’t make the cut. I’m sorry, I know you two were close.”

 

That was it. Hamilton’s vision darkened. This place, he believed to be a paradise was nothing more than a brightly colored prison. But was it really the best place? If he had gone to Asphodel, he would have faded away. Then he wouldn’t have to feel anything. For once Alexander didn’t know the answer. It was just so unfair. He wanted to march right up to Hades throne and demand his mother, Phillip’s, and Laurens’ souls. They were so innocent. He was the one who didn’t deserve it. He was the one who did wrong, not them.

 

But he knew he couldn’t do anything. He was trapped. There was nothing else. Alexander slammed his hand on the wooden table, his palm now burning. And he let himself cry. He let himself show weakness. It didn’t matter now. No matter how mortal, how _real,_ his body felt he was dead. There wasn’t anything left to do. He had finally run out of time.  

 

* * *

 

Laurens time in Valhalla was fairly cyclic. When he wasn’t fighting with his hallmates, he would retire to one of the many libraries. In combat, he learned to wield two curved bone steel scimitars (monster and giants were mostly immune to regular steel and the resources needed to create bone steel bullets were so great Einherjar mainly used melee weapons). At first, he’d been uncomfortable fighting in such close quarters where the enemy was no longer some faceless entity, but he quickly became desensitized (he also feared death less since he’d experienced many times. Jacques insisted that was the point of combat exercises).

 

John also made it a point to not let what was happening in Midgard pass unnoticed to him. He made a point to speak with every new Einherjar. It was very rare that anyone recognized him, but when he introduced himself as “Alexander Hamilton’s friend” new Einherjar from America usually were able to give him the new wanted.

 

The most shocking surprise had come a few years ago when he learned that Alexander had cheated on his wife. And then is the most impulsive, stupid, not well thought out plan that anyone could ever come up with, he wrote a pamphlet exposing his own actions!

 

But that wasn’t the worst of it. After Alexander had endorsed someone named Thomas Jefferson over Aaron Burr, Alex had challenged Burr to a duel. And Burr killed him. That was why Laurens was now walking through the streets of New York, a black cloak pulled over his face and his scimitars by his side. He tried to keep his head down. If he took in the sights of the city, he risked becoming nostalgic for what had been accomplished. He’d simply gotten his hand’s on the now Vice President Burr’s address and now set off to confront him.

 

Although he didn’t think the Einherjar who gave him the news was lying, nothing made any sense. Alex and Burr had always been rivals, but they’d always remained some form of friends.

 

Now he was in front of Burr’s house. He had been told Burr had stopped taking new cases and visitors unless it was under special circumstances. That didn’t bother Laurens. Ducking behind some bushes, Laurens opened a window and slipped in with his newfound agility.

 

Stealthy, Laurens slipped through the darkened house until he came to a slightly open door.

 

He could hear someone muttering behind the door. Glancing through the crack he could see Burr in front of his desk. He wasn’t writing and instead was staring out the window. As soon as Laurens saw him, irrational anger welled up inside of him. Not considering the consequences (he hadn’t on his way down of sneaking out of Valhalla), Laurens drew one of his scimitars and barged into the room, pointing it at Burr.

Burr jumped out of his seat and turned to confront the intruder. “W-what do you want?” he stammered out. He kept his eyes on Laurens, but his hand was searching his desk for something to be used as a weapon.

 

What did Laurens want? The entire time he snuck out of Valhalla and searched for Burr, he wasn’t thinking past finding him. He faltered and dropped into a slightly less combative pose. “Why did you kill him?”

 

Burr stopped searching for a weapon. “You mean Hamilton?” he asked, sounding defeated.

 

“Uh, yes,” Laurens said awkwardly as he sheathed his scimitar. He always wished he had Alexander’s skill speaking off script, now he was freezing up in what should be a dramatic moment.

 

Burr looked at Laurens more closely now that he had somewhat calmed down. He squinted like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Laurens?” he asked, uncertain as if he didn’t want to hear the answer.

 

“Uh, yeah,” John replied, pulling his hood down. He didn’t know how Burr would react, but if wanted the truth he supposed it would be best to be on an even playing field.

 

Burr started angrily pacing around, not acknowledging Laurens’ presence. “Great! Not only did you trick me into shooting him, but now I’m seeing ghosts! Was ruining my life not enough?”

 

“Burr, calm down. What are you talking about?”

 

Burr whipped around and Laurens could see the paranoia in his eyes. “How do you not know? You’re just a figment of my imagination,” he said, not making eye contact with Laurens. He took up his frustrated pacing again.

 

“Burr, calm down,” Laurens begged, doing the ‘slow down’ motion with his hands. “I promise I’m very real.”

 

As if he didn’t hear him, Burr continued ranting to himself. “Although, if I’m insane, why should you make any sense?”

 

“Odin’s eye, Burr!” Laurens exclaimed as he grabbed Burr’s arm to get him to stop and pay attention to him. “Just calm down and explain everything.”

 

Burr starred Laurens down with malice in his eyes, although that was probably justified since Laurens _had_ broken into his home and pointed a sword at him.

 

“Fine.” Burr twisted his arm out of Laurens’ grip and sat down in the chair, now facing the intruder. In an instant, it was as if all the anger evaporated from him, and Laurens just saw a defeated man with his face in his hands.

 

“Okay, like take a seat somewhere. I still have no idea why the hell I’m doing this, but it’s a really long story.”

 

 

* * *

 

After Hamilton had gotten married all those decades ago, Burr had left the reception feeling cheated. Hamilton had gotten the job as Washington’s aid when he didn’t even want it! The job _he_ wanted. To top that all off, Hamilton was able to marry the love of his life, while Burr had to hope and pray that the cards would be played just right and he’d be able to live out the rest of his life with his dear, sweet Theodosia.

 

As he stared out at the stars, someone walked up behind him. He turned to see a woman with choppy black hair wearing a red dress. He didn’t recognize her, but she seemed to know him. She claimed that Burr was her son and her name was Nemesis. She said that if he agreed, she could balance him and Hamilton. Give him what he rightfully deserved and make things balanced. But she warned him. Good luck never came without a price, regardless of your parentage.

 

“I don’t understand,” Burr said.

 

“Okay. Here’s the deal. I’ll start it off easy.” Nemesis pulled out a small marble. “None of this balancing stuff. If you want something, break this marble. You’ll get what you want, but remember, you will pay dearly for what you receive. I’ll help you balance things later.”

 

Burr accepted the marble to examine it. When he looked up again, Nemesis was gone.

 

Burr finally decided to break the marble, in pure frustration one night. Shortly afterward, he received the news that Theodosia’s husband had been killed in battle. They were married shortly afterward.

 

The next time he saw Nemesis was when he was walking home after learning Hamilton had traded away the capital in a closed door deal. Burr heard a voice behind him “Do you understand what I meant now?”

 

He turned around to see _her_ standing there. Nemesis walked forward. “You understand fairness. That’s why you became a lawyer, wasn’t it? So that the fair thing always happens.”

 

“Um, yes.” Burr looked around nervously. No one else was around this late at night.

 

“Now this won’t be as easy as breaking a marble. However, I will do what’s best to make sure the cards fall to allow you to. I suggest you start with holding public office. The Schuyler seat should be up for election soon.”

 

“Uh…”

 

“You want to be in the room where it happens, don’t you?”

 

“Uh, yeah?” Burr didn’t really know what to say. The last time he accepted her help, he was able to marry his love. The warning about good luck always coming had slipped his mind after so many years.

 

“Good. That’s the duty of my children. I will do my best to help you but remember never become too prideful. Hubris will only lead to your downfall.”

 

Without even waiting for a reply, Nemesis turned around and walked off.

 

The next encounter involved a lot more tears and yelling. At Theodosia’s funeral, Nemesis was one of a few attendees. Finally realizing what Nemesis’s warning about good luck coming with a price, he yelled curses at what he was sure was now a demon while Theodosia Jr hid behind a bush. He’d never felt angrier before in his life, but Nemesis stood there unfazed until Burr’s voice was hoarse. Then she simply walked back into the mist.

 

The last time he saw Nemesis was the day after he’d shot Hamilton. Before she even said anything, Burr guessed what she was here for. “I suppose shooting him was my bad luck,” he stated.

 

“No. That had nothing to do with me,” Nemesis said, sounding slightly more sympathetic than usual. “That was all you. Even if you didn’t mean to shoot him, you wanted revenge. It felt unfair. Your perceptions were altered so you couldn’t see him aim at the sky until it was too late. But he deserved to die. He was prideful to a fault.”

 

“Just go away,” Burr said, calm malice filling his voice. He hadn’t really felt anything since the duel, but anger was welling up deep inside of him as if it was under a thick layer of ice.

 

Nemesis complied with Burr’s request.

 

* * *

 

“Gods, Burr,” Laurens said, suddenly feeling sympathy for Aaron. From what he could gather, Nemesis was probably some minor god. Her name sounded vaguely familiar, barring the fact it was also a normal word. So Burr was a demigod. However, John didn’t mention it at all. Drawing him into this world would just cause more problems.

 

“Hey, look. I was being super rash. I shouldn’t have barged in here. I’m gonna be in super big trouble. I’m sorry. It’s just. I heard the news you killed Alex and I didn’t know what to think.” Laurens had crouched down onto the floor so that he was at eye level with Burr slumped in his chair.

 

Burr didn’t respond. Since Laurens didn’t know what to do next, he turned towards the door. Maybe he’d get lucky and no one would know that he was missing. Before he left, one last thing to say came into my head. “Alright, you can keep thinking you just imagined me, the real explanation is really complicated. Just, I can’t really bring myself to hate you. I should. Like I’m really trying, but you’re just way too easy to feel sorry for. And I know you don’t have time to fill me in on decades worth of nuances. Um, just sleep tight knowing I’m not seeking vengeance against you.”

 

Laurens headed out the door. He now understood why Einherjar weren’t supposed to be assigned to missions in their world of origin until centuries after they died. Learning about what was happening after you died, although not banned, was encouraged either. It took all of Laurens’ self-control to even return to Valhalla later. But it didn’t matter. If he did stay, what could he do? The only person he really cared about was dead, his soul now lost to Ginnungagap.

 

 

* * *

 

“So, I’ve gathered you here today to discuss something very important that has been weighing heavily on my mind for a while,” Washington said as Alexander and Eliza sat down at the round table in Washington's mansion. They had been in Elysium together for so long, they couldn’t really keep track. And with it being constantly day, all they knew was a really long time.

 

Everyone had gathered. Washington sat at the end of the table, with his back to an empty fireplace and facing a wall. Mulligan sat on the general’s left while Lafayette was seating at his right. Across from where Eliza and Hamilton were taking their seats, Madison sat next to Jefferson, who was slumped in his seat.

 

When Jefferson had died, it was revealed he was a child of Zeus. Since he was a leader of a nation in life, he was assigned a shift as a judge. The change was almost immediate. The usually cocky, prideful man became listless and withdrawn. He would just brush off Alexander’s attempts to get into an argument. Washington said that was because those who became judges had a lot of the emotion part of their soul removed so they could be impartial.

 

Burr was missing for a reason. After he’d died, Jefferson had reported the shocking news that he’d attempted set up his own empire out west and narrowly avoided being convicted for treason. Alexander hadn’t considered whether he would forgive Burr if they met again in the afterlife, but now he never had to. Burr had been condemned to the Fields of Punishment (Jefferson explained it was due to a lot of things tipping the scales).

 

Angelica and Peggy also didn’t make it. They were wandering in Asphodel now. Eliza had only made it to Elysium because of her work setting up an orphanage.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alexander hadn’t really taken Washington's’ warning about the judges’ damaged souls to heart and tried to petition Hades to allow him to become a judge. Hades had rejected him since he was just a child of Athena (Washington was also a child of Athena). With nothing else to do, Alexander formed a plan with Lafayette and Mulligan to trap Jefferson in Mulligan’s manor during his shift so Hamilton could take his duties. He just wanted to do _something_ useful He donned Jefferson’s cloak and mask to disguise himself and set off for the judgement pavilion.

 

Hamilton quickly realised that his made his list of worst ideas ever. The first new soul was a young child, a girl who apeared to be no older than six. As soon as she stepped on the pavillion, her eyes darting around as she clutched a raggedy bunny, words appeared on thick book that was open in front of Alexander’s column. Before he could even begin to read, the judge to his left boredly said, “Looks like another case of dying too young. Another shade for Asphodel.”

 

As the judge to Alexander’s left nodded, anger rose in this throat. Was this what it was like for Phillip? How sacred was his son? Did he understand that his fate was being decided, unlike the girl? How long did they debate for?

 

“No!” Alexander kept his eyes trained on the book, but he wasn’t reading any of the text. He was trying to keep himself from crying.

 

“What do you mean?” The masked judge to his left asked, “She had the cruel innocence of a child, but that could never be enough to tip the scales alone. Her thread was simply cut to short.”

 

Alexander bristled. How could the other judges use such flowery language about death, but brush it away like it was nothing? “Is it always like this? Condemn another child to Asphodel, someone who never got the chance?”

 

As soon as he said that, the judges knew something was up. The judge on the left had the skeletons escort the girl to Asphodel, where her soul would fade away. While the judge on the right summoned a hideous creature with a cruel elderly lady’s face and raven wings. Alexander recognized her as one of the Furies (he’d only had an interest in mythology when it was necessary to get through school. Learning about all of the myths that he now knew were now real was one of the many hobbies he’d taken up with the infinite free time).

 

“I think Jefferson is being impersonated,” The judge said methodically.

 

With only a quick nod as warning, the Fury lunged at Hamilton’s mask and tore it off with one slash of her claw-like hands. While Alexander was still reeling from shock, she grabbed him by his collar and flew off towards Hades’ palace. Using her just as claw-like feet, she carried him above the underworld like a kitten. After the shock wore off, he realized that it was pretty humiliating. He didn’t try to struggle, for fear it would make his punishment worse or cause the Fury to drop him.

 

When the Fury explained the situation to Hades, the lord of the underworld seemed amused. Apparently in all the time since the system of judges had been set in place, no one had attempted to take up the job so aggressively. Alexander had managed to keep his mouth shut about how unfair the entire system was. He only stated that he understood why Jefferson had become so listless when asked directly by Hades. As much as he wanted to argue with Hades and felt humiliated with the way Hades saw him as a curious novelty. He managed to get off with nothing more than a stern warning and a promise that Hades would remember him.

 

* * *

 

“Alexander..”

 

Hamilton shook his head. Everyone at the table was staring at him. “Oh, sorry. I got lost in thought there.”

 

Washington coughed a little bit to bring the attention back to him. “As I was saying, I wanted to bring up the possibility of rebirth. It’s just, there’s nothing really to do here. I’ve been missing the mortal world. But I don’t want to head down to the river Lethe without first telling you.”

 

Alexander could feel the anxiety spreading throughout the room as everyone considered the biggest choice you could make as a spirit in Elysium, have your memories erased and your soul reborn. Before he could bring up the reason why he couldn’t be reborn, something he should have said a while ago, Madison spoke up.  “Well, Thomas can’t be reborn, because he’s a judge. And, well, I don’t want to reincarnate without him.”

 

“I understand, Madison,” Washington stated, but Alexander could tell he seemed disappointed.

 

“Um, well,” Alexander tried to speak, his ability to weave words seemed to of evaporated suddenly. “I can’t reincarnate either.”

 

With this, everyone was staring at him, even Jefferson who had been sitting sideways in the chair and staring at a spot in the floor. “Okay, so….awhile ago- you know how I got those summons to Hades’ palace. Well, he asked me to be his secretary, to help with writing decrees or arguing with the other gods on his behalf, stuff like that.”

 

Alexander looked around, everyone was still shocked so he continued. “It’s just I wanted to do something with all this time.”

 

The uncomfortable silence continued for a while, untill Hamilton felt Eliza’s hand over his own. They turned to lovingly look at each other. As much as he tried not to, Alexander couldn’t keep himself from involuntarily flinching. He’d had this problem ever since Eliza had died. She’d outlived him by fifty years, much longer than he’d expected. Her hair was gray, almost white, while her face was heavily wrinkled. Ever since Alexander died, he hadn’t aged a day. It was just hard to look at her.

 

“Well if you think I’m reincarnating without you, then you’re wrong,” Eliza said, a playful tone in her voice.

 

“Well, I’m not going without Alex,” Lafayette said, “Someone has to keep you out of trouble, and I don’t think your wife could managed on her own.”

 

“Same,” Mulligan stated.

 

Washington looked over his assembled group, unsure what to say.

 

“Looks like you’re the person bowing out when everything done again, sir,” Lafayette teased. This attempt at lightening the mood was met with more uneasy silence and a stern glare from Madison.

 

Hamilton, trying to keep up his skill and reputation as a skilled speaker, tried to compose some poetic quote for this moment on the spot. “Although we will miss you, I assume I speak for everyone we I say we will respect your decision to head down to the River Lethe.” This was echoed with muttered “ahuh”s and nods, while Alexander main thought was “ _Not my best work, by far.”_   He was very much out of practice and had become rusty with nothing to writeand no one to debate.

 

“Well then, I’m glad you understand.” Suddenly, Washington stood up from his chair. His eyes looked haunted, but he remained stoic.

 

Eliza stood up seconds later. “Sir, are you going already?”

 

Washington didn’t answer, but instead trained his eyes on the wooden floor.

 

Hamilton understood, somewhat. Time didn’t pass in Elysium. Washington couldn’t say “I’ll do it tomorrow”. But he didn’t understand why. There’d been points where he was willing to throw his life away in battle, but that was never for nothing. He’d been disenchanted by the peaceful monotony of Elysium, but the option of bowing out never came to him. The solution was always to find _something_ to do. And now he was going to be Hades’ secretary, his right hand man. And he was. For the next hundred of years, he remained by Hades’ side. He debated with gods, ran secret missions, and was by the side of the lord of the underlord, advising him. He was able to bury himself in his work, not dwell about Laurens whose fate was unknown. He managed to not think about Phillip and his other children who lost themselves wandering in Asphodel. He knew trying to get rid of Asphodel was a lost cause before he even started fighting. But still, sometimes he wondered as he sat in Persephone's garden, what happened to Laurens. 

 

* * *

 

 

Laurens sat down in the cushioned seat, clutching the program as he tried not to make eye contact with anyone. The last centuries had followed the same pattern. He refused to become discouraged and always asked every new Einherjar. The most depressing part was how everyone started to forget about Hamilton and Burr, and well, basically everyone other than Washington. Sometimes he’d get a “Oh, the guy on the 10 dollar bill?” but nothing more. He had quickly accepted that his place in history would be forgotten. He was just another commander who died at the end of the war, right? But it was really hard to take Hamilton’s erasure. He’d studied and fought, to keep himself from fading like many long-dead Einherjar. He didn’t stop gathering news of how his is country developed, regardless of how much it disheartened him.

 

However, something had happened. One time when he did his usual thing of introducing himself to a new Einherjar, their reaction surprised him. “You mean the guy in the musical?” He did a bit of research and found that someone had made a musical about Hamilton’s life, and brought his friend, and even him back into public awareness.

 

As soon as he found out, Laurens started going on missions for gods, trying to get enough red gold to pay for such surprisingly expensive tickets (he couldn’t even blame inflation). Once he had enough of the currency of the gods, he was able to buy a reasonable seat. It had taken months and he’d almost died multiple times.   

 

But he’d finally gotten a seat. Feeling exposed in modern clothes, the first songs were exhilarating and very bittersweet. He could feel tears forming in his eyes. It was like his friends were alive again! He watched the duel with Charles Lee being acted out. He saw “Hamilton” fall in love with “Eliza”. He saw them stand triumphant as the war was won.

 

After “Alexander” and “Burr” had finished singing to their children, he was shocked to see the actor who played him standing on the side of the stage. The war was over wasn’t? He had passed the point after he died, hadn’t he?

 

 _“I may not live to see our glory._ ” Laurens flinched. He’d already understood the significance of that lyric the other times it had been sung.

 

The actress playing Eliza walked onto the stage where “Hamilton” sat at his desk. “ _Alexander? There's a letter for you._ ”

 

The lump in Lauren’s throat worsened. Before “Eliza” even read the letter, he knew what it was. He gripped the arms of his seat to steady himself. He would be too hard to explain why he was so emotional. “Eliza” read out the letter, while “Laurens” sang lines from the earlier song, now in a more somber tone.

 

Laurens let the tears stream down his face. It was dark anyway. He could see “Hamilton” shake as if he was crying. Laurens knew this was just acting, but it made him feel worse.

 

He sat there numbly as the musical continued with its usual upbeat tone. He was able to manage a smile when “Hamilton” was debating “Jefferson”. The musical had managed to capture his friend’s eloquence and spit fire.

 

The musical progressed. The sadness remained heavy, but as he watched a representation of his friend throwing his life away, anger rose. He always knew of a vague idea of how his friend’s life continued after Laurens’ death, but argh...just how _stupid_ Alexander had been made him want to find his soul, just so he could give him a chewing out.

 

Laurens had to choke back a primal cry as he saw “Hamilton” mourning the death of his son, who to boot was played by the same actor who played him. He had to stop himself from running up to the stage and comforting him. But that would be such a stupid move, that no amount of glamour could cover and he would be given some horrible menial task until Ragnarok as punishment.

 

He sat in silence as the play progressed. He had gotten a few odd looks from being so emotionally affected, but nothing more.

 

As he heard “Burr” and “Hamilton” argue, he understood the reasons for the duel more. How ironic that when he’d confronted Burr himself, he left without a proper answer out of pity, but this musical hundreds of years later satisfied him more.

 

As the duel began, anticipation rose in his throat. If Philip’s death was any indentation, Alexander’s would be just, if not even more, heartbreaking.

 

But it was a line that came before Hamilton’s death that broke him. _“Laurens leads a soldier's chorus on the other side!”_

 

He’d already been on the verge of collapsing, but the pure bitter irony pushed John over the edge. Everything faded away. Putting his face in his hands, he tried to stop sobs from escaping him. He heard the play falter for a bit. With the complete silence of the audience, the actors must have noticed his audible distress.

 

Laurens bit his tongue until it he could taste blood. He had to be quiet. He couldn’t ruin this for everyone else. From outside his bubble of guilt and grief, he could tell the play continued after his short interruption. However, he wasn’t really aware of what was happening. In his head, guilt about how _he_ the simple soldier who did nothing was chosen for Valhalla, when he wasn’t the noble and brave one, drowned out the world. Look at all the amazing stuff Alex accomplished! What did he do? Nothing. His men weren’t even chosen for Valhalla.

 

Soon the sound of applause was able to overcome Laurens’ own thoughts. He could tell that people were getting up to leave. But John just couldn’t muster the energy. He pulled his modern clothes around him tightly, as he imagined hundreds of judgemental eyes staring down at him.

 

When Laurens finally left the theater, keeping his head down, he was one of the last to leave. He hoped people wouldn’t really remember him. There was so much more to focus, especially with how dizzyingly complex the modern world was. Being in New York now also made him feel jumpy, like there was some other power who didn’t want him here. Porpentine met him outside the theater, looking so much more natural in modern clothes.

 

“You’re late,” she said sternly.

 

Laurens couldn’t bring himself to reply and simply kept his eyes trained on the sidewalk. He’d stopped crying, but he didn’t want to show any weakness to Porpentine.

 

“Jaques and Marina have covered for you long enough.” If Porpentine noticed how distraught Laurens was, she didn’t show it.

 

Porpentine flew Laurens back Boston were they managed to open a portal to Valhalla. As they snuck through the World Tree, they managed to avoid any monsters.

 

Laurens returned to his room and buried himself under piles of blankets. He missed the next morning’s breakfast call. He told himself he was just tired. It did matter if he was hungry, he reasoned. That was just an illusion. He’d be fine.

  
He managed to pull himself out of bed the next morning, where he devoured two days worth of food in one meal. Then he threw himself into training. He was one of Odin’s warriors. If there was something he could do. Something that would be worthwhile, it would be bringing down as many giants as he could with him in Ragnarok. Nothing else really matter. Alex was gone. Everyone he’d ever cared about has died long ago, consigned to oblivion.

**Author's Note:**

> There you go. While this took a while. I’ll probably take a little break to focus on other things before I start on the next after the war chapter, sorry. Also, I know the meeting scene was probably missing a lot of important characters who weren’t covered in the play and should have made it into Elysium, but like I said, I didn’t do a lot of research. Besides, I wanted to focus on the play’s characters. Now I’ll probably write an epilog to this, but I want to wait for canon to catch up, so I'll know exactly how to forces of Valhalla and Hades’ forces are used in the final battle.


End file.
